


Like a Moon on the Tides

by universe



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Canon Crossover, Crossover, F/M, Kissing, Language Kink, Languages, Languages and Linguistics, five things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-18
Updated: 2011-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-14 21:00:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/universe/pseuds/universe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>They pass each other notes in Mandarin.</i> She's always thought of him as a smarter version of Indiana Jones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Moon on the Tides

**Moscow, 2017 hours**

Daniel orders a beer.

He has been stuck in Russia for weeks now, trying to negotiate a shared use of the foreign Stargate with the government. So far, he has had little success convincing the Russians to at least let them borrow the Gate in case of emergency. Which is why the SGC have decided to send an official, trained negotiator to help him. (He doubts it’s going to make a difference, though, not with how stubborn the government officials have proven to be.)

For now, Daniel is to remain in Moscow, take a break and allow the Russians to calm down. And that is how he finds himself in a bar on his first day off. It’s a bar of the dark, shady kind, but it’s close to his hotel, and he really doesn’t feel like going anywhere.

The bartender, a gruff man whose trousers keep slipping down until you can almost see too much (–Daniel shudders–), puts a full glass of beer in front of him. Daniel takes a careful sip, expecting nothing more than lukewarm water with maybe a hint of hops.

As it turns out, this shabby place actually knows how to make decent beer. More than decent, even.

“This is amazing! This must be the best beer I’ve ever had.”

His Russian isn’t perfect; the reply that follows, however, _is_.

“I’ll take one of those too, then!” sounds a familiar voice from behind him. He turns around, and finds none other than Elizabeth Weir smiling at him.

“They sent _you_?”

She frowns, but can’t quite keep the grin off her face.

“Don’t sound so disappointed, _Daniel_.”

He gapes at her for a second, then propels himself out of his stupor with a soft headshake. Getting up, he envelops her in a hug that she returns without hesitation.

“I’m not. Just surprised. I didn’t even know you were… err, back home.”

“I’m not home,” she says simply, letting go of him. “Just visiting.”

“So you’re here to help me sort out this mess, are you?”

She nods and watches him sit back down and point to the stool next to his.

“But first, I believe we have a few days off, and I for one plan on having some fun.”

Taking a seat, she effortlessly slips back into Russian and addresses the bartender. Daniel can’t help but stare at her a little longer.

 

**Colorado Springs, 1432 hours**

“Hey, Daniel.”

He grumbles a little, pressing his face further into the crook of his arm.

“Daaanieeeeeel.”

When he still doesn’t move, or react at all, there’s a few seconds of silence until, all of a sudden, he is attacked by vicious fingers. Poking right into his side.

“Daniel, wake up!”

It only now occurs to him that he is, in fact, no longer dreaming. He sits up slowly, his face squinted tight against the bright light in the room.

“You must have dozed off.”

The fingers aren’t there anymore, but the voice still is, so he turns around to see who it belongs to. Elizabeth is standing in front of him, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised and looking pointedly at him, an odd twinkle in her eyes.

“Uh… yeah. I must have. Uh, how late is it?” he yawns, searching for his watch among what looks like an entire pile of old artefacts.

“Almost three. But it’s Sunday, what are you even doing here?”

It’s his turn to quirk an eyebrow now, looking at her as if to ask her the very same thing. She laughs.

“Okay, okay. Point taken.”

(Not for the first time, he notices how much he likes her laugh.)

“You were mumbling in your sleep”, she says, now grinning almost smugly.

“I… I was?” he can’t help but stutter.

“Yes. In Ancient, I believe. Something, ‘we can’t do this here’ and ‘somebody could see us’?”

Her grin grows when he blushes. Once he starts shifting nervously from one foot to the other, she finally takes pity on him.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

At that, he relaxes a bit. She smiles at him again and walks away, stopping at the door one last time.

“Oh, and Daniel?” She waits until she has his full attention. “I’m pretty sure most of my red shirts are easier to take off that you’d think.”

Blood rushes to his face again, and her laughter echoes through the hallways even after she has left.

 

**Atlantis, 2609 hours**

They’ve taken to passing each other notes.

At first, it made him feel slightly silly –childish, even–, but once he got over that, there was no stopping. Besides, if Elizabeth Weir was willing to act like a school girl, who was he to say no?

Daniel has been in Atlantis for a few weeks now, not all that long, actually, he thinks, but certainly long enough to find out just how boring meetings there can be. There is not much than can lighten up talks about rations, water consumption (which you’d think shouldn’t be a problem at all seeing as the entire city is surrounded by an ocean) and mess hall duties quite like a secret conversation with the leader of the expedition.

He’s accustomed to conference sounds, has been since he joined the Stargate program, and on Atlantis, they’re only slightly different. There’s the scratching of pens on paper, the rush of wind outside, the odd pop or crackle when someone stretches, the rustling of files being passed around.

All these sounds have become just as familiar to him as those on Earth had been. There is one sound in particular, however, that always jerks him awake even in the dullest meetings. It’s a different kind of scratch, when Elizabeth lets her pencil sweep gracefully over the margins of her note books. It always means she’s writing to him.

They communicate in Mandarin. Nobody would dare to read her notes (or so much as _touch_ them, really) without her explicit consent, but you can never be too sure.

He taught her the most important characters a long time ago, and he’d swear she’s learned a lot more by now, although he doesn’t know how or where. He has seen the book contingent that the expedition brought with them, and none of them were even remotely related to Chinese writing. (He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous that she manages to convey sarcasm in these foreign characters better than _he_ does these days.)

 

This time, she starts the conversation with the sign for _bored_. (His mind instantly harks back to fifth grade, when the only girl that would speak to an eleven-year-old history nerd passed him his first note.)

He tries not to laugh. Instead, he focuses on the large computer screen in front of him, pretending to be listening. He doesn’t know why, but he always feels like he has to hide the fact that he’s writing, when in reality, he _could_ be taking notes, and nobody would ever notice.

After a few short moments, McKay gets up from his chair and makes his way to the front, no doubt planning on keeping them less than entertained for a long time. Daniel uses that moment of general distraction to reply.

They start a long-winded conversation, starting with their schedule and dinner plans for the week, then covering favourite books and music, until they eventually settle on talking about things they don’t miss now that they’re a galaxy away from what used to be home.

The next time he looks up, Rodney is still droning on about his perfect calculations, and Daniel wonders for the umpteenth time how Elizabeth stands all this. He knows she gets copies of everyone’s presentations before each meeting, and she reads them all. He doesn’t understand how she still manages to look interested despite already knowing every little detail about the topic presented. Especially when it’s Rodney McKay giving yet another one of his little speeches.

Daniel lets his pen glide over a new scrap of paper, painting sentences in intricate designs.

“God, I don’t think his head could get any bigger!”

Elizabeth almost snorts, and Daniel can’t quite tell if it’s in agreement or in disapproval, but she bows her head to write, distracting him with the way her hand moves delicately over the page.

He carefully unfolds the reply she hands him, resisting the urge to fake a cough. Elizabeth already seems to be completely engrossed in the presentation again when he reads the note.

“That’s what she said.”

This time, he can’t help but laugh, and stifles it, hiding his face behind his hands. He doesn’t know whether to be proud or embarrassed by her skills.

 

**Washington D.C., 1708 hours**

He teaches her Goa’uld for food.

They meet at her place once a week, usually on Fridays, but he’s in Colorado a lot, and sometimes she’s in New York, so they end up having to postpone more often than not. They both don’t mind, they’re flexible enough to adjust their work schedules accordingly, and eventually, he finds himself in her apartment again, watching her cook while he makes her recite Goa’uld grammar.

It’s the one language she can’t seem to master on her own (–or so he’d like to make himself believe). Or maybe she just enjoy his company. Either way, he doesn’t have it in him to refuse, even when he’s just back from a mission. Not even the jetlag of travelling halfway through a galaxy could keep him from their weekly routine. _Besides, a man’s gotta eat_ , he thinks with a smirk.

 

“Have you ever thought about becoming a teacher?” she asks over pasta one evening.

While they eat, they talk. It’s been that way since the first time he came over. No vocabulary questions, no grammar exercises, just _them_.

“I have, actually,” he mumbles around his fork. “I considered it for a while, before the Stargate program, but it never really stuck. There were always other things, expeditions to South American jungle regions, digs in Egypt, and all that was just too exciting to let go of. Besides, I could never imagine being one of those boring, dusty professor types.”

She laughs at that.

“Daniel, believe me, you’re far from boring.”

As a matter of fact, she’s always thought of him as a smarter version of Indiana Jones.

“Thank you. But that’s just what the SGC and going off-world has turned me into. Before this whole thing, I never would’ve thought myself capable of many things I’ve done now.”

“That just proves that you had all those things in you the entire time. You just needed to find a way to let them all out.”

He frowns, contemplating her words, but eventually nods slowly.

“Hmm, maybe you’re right.”

She smiles.

“I am. And you would’ve made a great teacher. You _are_ a great teacher. I guess I should stop trying to talk you into anything. At least this way, I’m lucky enough to get you all to myself.”

At that, he laughs, finishing the last bit of his dinner.

“Okay, are you ready for a few more verb conjugations?”

She looks at him with a pained expression on her face.

“Do we _have_ to?”

“Yes, we do,” he replies, turning away to hide his grin. He starts cleaning up, that is his part of the routine, while she fetches a bottle of wine.

“Okay, fine. Which one?”

“Let’s start with the basic ones. To go, to have, to be.”

She spends the next half hour conjugating verbs, beginning with the easy ones, until they become increasingly difficult up to the point where she threatens to throw his verb tables out the window.

He knows it’s meant in jest, but he still clutches his precious tables to his chest and takes a few steps away from her. That has her laughing again, the sound ringing in his ears even after she has fallen silent.

“How about this… We turn this into a game.”

“A game?” she asks. “What kind of game?”

“Something that involves a reward system.”

Her face lights up. “And what exactly did you have in mind to reward me _with_?”

Daniel hesitates for a few seconds.

“Well, usually, I’d say I could give you chocolate for each correct answer. But I don’t think either of us can eat anything else after that delicious dinner you made.” She smiles at that. “And you’re already tipsy, so alcohol won’t do either.”

“I am _not_ tipsy!” she yells, a little louder than expected, and the volume makes her blush.

“Uh, case in point,” he grins, earning himself a swat of her hand against his arm.

“So… Do you have any suggestions?”

She pretends to be thinking, but already knows what she wants.

“I want a massage. One minute for every question or sentence I get right.”

He stares at her, but then nods. “Deal.”

 

The first few questions are easy enough, and he spends ten minutes on a knot in her right shoulder. But even as things get increasingly more complicated, she gives enough correct answers for him to grow slightly uncomfortable. He’s never sat this close to her before, and he’s never touched her as much as he is doing now. But he tells himself that it’s all platonic, that he’s only helping out a friend. And that works, at least for a while.

After what must be almost an hour, he changes tactics, and comes up with half-finished sentences for her to complete and phrases to translate. The sudden shift throws her, and his hands are allowed to rest. He moves away from her slightly, too, but keeps the exercises going.

It’s the most hardest task he has given her this evening, purposely choosing words with many possible meanings and the most difficult sounds to pronounce. It even takes him several minutes to get the sentence sorted in his head, and when he says it, her face falls for a split second, and then she’s laughing out loud.

“Daniel Jackson, wash your mouth out with soap!”

He cringes, inwardly, because he’s already noticed his mistake. (Truth be told, he’s done this before. Mixed up the words for “lord” and “idiot”. It’s just one little difference in vocal cord shift, but it got them into so much trouble they had to make a run for the Gate and never return.) He had never expected her to call him on his slip. Or even notice it in the first place. Suddenly, it hits him, and he stares at her, dumbstruck.

“You know the words! You’ve known them all along!”

She looks him in the eye and doesn’t flinch for one second, two, three, four,– and then she starts grinning slyly.

He blushes furiously, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he realises that’s all he ever does around her. She has this effect on him, makes him flustered and nervous and clumsy when he usually never is any of those things.

With that realisation, he decides she’s had the upper hand long enough. He jumps up from where he’s been sitting on her couch, grabs a pillow, and starts the first real pillow fight he’s had since he was eight years old.

 

**P4K-798, 0486 hours**

“I can’t believe you talked us out of going to the closing ceremony.”

“Did you _want_ to go?”

“Well… no”, she admits. “This is the one where everybody has to wear skimpy dresses and dance around a fire, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Besides, it’s just the _first_ ceremony. I’d never make you miss the _last_ one.”

“You mean the one where kissing the person next to you at least once every hour is mandatory?”, she raises an eyebrow, but joins in when he starts chuckling. They’re both more than interested in other cultures, but this one sure beats most of what they’ve experienced so far, just when they thought they’d seen it all.

He pulls her towards him, lying down and dragging her with him until she’s sitting in his lap.

“But the others… There will be questions.”

“Considering how drunk everyone was last night? They’ll probably not even notice. And if they do, we’ll just tell them we were hung over.”

“And what about our people? They know we weren’t drunk.”

He leans up and starts kissing her throat.

“Hmm, it’s…” Kiss. “Lorne.” Kiss. “He’s as…” Kiss. “Loyal…” Kiss. “As they come.” Kiss. “He’ll never tell anyone.”

He stops to look her in the eyes, seeing her struggle.

“Come on, Elizabeth, you’ve earned yourself a day off. Besides, you’ll be back in the middle of the ceremonies before you know it. I promise.”

She’s tempted, very much so, and they both know it. After a few more moments, she gives in with a nod. “Okay.”

“Great!” he grins. “Can we have sex now?”

She swats his arm in faked shock and mumbles: “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Just cute?”

Now she’s laughing because, who would have thought, Doctor Daniel Jackson, intergalactic explorer, is pouting. And it looks far more adorable than it should.

“Okay, more than just cute. You’re also… smart. Strong. Nice.”

His pout grows, and along with it does her laughter.

“And you’re very, very hot.”

That finally does the trick, he grins and hugs her tightly against his chest.

“Just for the record? So are you.”

She kisses him fully then, on the lips, and lets herself forget the world outside for just a few precious moments. His hands glide up her sides, his fingers hooked under her shirt, pulling it off. Not one to just lie back and let someone else take control, she removes his own shirt and pushes him back down onto the mattress.

She nibbles her way down his chest, and by the time she reaches his trousers, his breaths are coming in gasps. Her hands start wandering over his lower body, when a muttered “M’attizzi” escapes him.

And just like that, all of a sudden, she’s laughing, as she tends to do around him more often than not, and it takes him a while to regain control of his senses and notice it. His confusion must be visible on his face because her laughter turns even louder when her eyes meet his.

“Ti attizzo???” she asks, barely able to get the words out.

At that, he blushes furiously. He never even realised he had slipped into Italian and told her she… was _stirring him up_. By the time she’s calmed down enough to look at him, his skin colour has almost returned to normal. She still looks like she’s about to start giggling again, so he decides to silence her with the most effective method he knows in any language, in any galaxy.

 

Sometimes, Daniel hates that Elizabeth knows what he’s saying in most languages… But most of the time, it does have its perks.


End file.
